


On The Back of My Hand (I Bare My Soul)

by CalamityK



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff and Angst, Galran Biology, Gift Exchange, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Slow Romance, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, VLD Secret Santa 2018, Writing on Skin, galra - Freeform, not like real angst at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 09:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18163451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityK/pseuds/CalamityK
Summary: “Your soulmate is going to think you get lost easily.” Kolivan states, pointing to the back of Keith’s hand.--------------------Or that fic where Keith has confusing Galran soulmate biology, but it's alright in the end.





	On The Back of My Hand (I Bare My Soul)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xXxShinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXxShinx/gifts).



> oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo boy ok. So. This is like. REALLY LATE. This is a gift for xxxshinx on tumblr for the VLD Secret Santa Exchange 2018....in...March 2019....Im trash.
> 
> I don't want to chunk up my author notes here, but life has....kicked my ass. This fic was amazingly hard for me to finish and I'm so so so so sorry that you had to wait so long to get it.
> 
> I asked you once in an anon on tumblr what you would like from a Keitor pairing, and you said soulmates writing on their skin to each other would be cute. This fic isn't that cute, but I do hope you enjoy reading it!! I know I didn't do proper justice to the idea, but I gave it a shot. 
> 
> (See end notes for Beta thanks and my @ handles)

“Your soulmate is going to think you get lost easily.” Kolivan states, pointing to the back of Keith’s hand.

 

“What?” Keith looks down in confusion. There are mission coordinates smudged hastily above his thumb where he wrote them this morning. He hadn’t been near his comm and didn’t want to forget them before he could enter them into his ship’s directional data-log. He looks back up at Kolivan. 

 

“Sorry, it’s an Earth thing. I used to write homework assignments on the back of my hand so I wouldn’t forget to do them.” Then the first part of Kolivan’s statement registers and he adds, “Did you say soulmate?” 

 

Kolivan nods. “Random coordinates appearing on their hand will likely make them wonder.” He pauses, giving Keith a once over and assessing the confusion he finds on Keith’s face. “You don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

 

Keith opts to keep his mouth shut and shake his head slowly. He’s used to not knowing things, his life has been one giant heap of not knowing things ever since he made his way to space. 

 

Kolivan sighs. “It’s easy to forget, despite your human appearance, that you’re only half galra. There are so many things you’ve yet to learn.” 

 

Keith watches as Kolivan minimizes the comm holo he’d been looking at, and shifts around uncomfortably. Eventually he palms the same kind of space-tech pen Keith had written on his hand with, and turns back to Keith.

 

“Watch carefully.” He instructs, freeing his right arm from its glove and gauntlet and exposing the furless part of his forearm. 

 

He holds it out at eye level for Keith, and uses the pen to write on his own skin.

 

**_‘Thace, do you have a moment?’_ **

 

The confusion in Keith’s mind whirls, and Kolivan must be able to tell because he says, “Give it a moment.”

 

Keith obeys. Staring patiently at Kolivan’s arm and feeling a bit foolish, but after a long moment of tense silence, something happens. Underneath Kolivan’s sideways scrawl, a new— much neater— scrawl, begins bleeding up from under his skin. 

 

_ ‘ _ **_I do, but make it quick, Kol, I’m already at the training deck._ ** _ ’ _

 

 _A_ _response_ , Keith’s brain helpfully supplies, _from Thace_. He suffers a mild bit of disbelief before he shakes it away.

 

Kolivan pulls his arm back and quickly pens something else before replacing his armor. 

 

“I…” Keith trails off, unsure of what to say, or which of the questions tumbling around his skull to ask first. 

 

“It’s a lot to take in,” Kolivan says lightly. “If I had more time, I could give you a breakdown of the mythology, but I’ll have to upload files to your info log later. Does earth have any concept of soulmates?” 

 

Keith blinks and clears his throat. “Yeah, but… it’s just stories and stuff. None of it’s real.”

 

Kolivan gives him an incredulous glance. “I don’t believe humans have an accurate biological means — not like the Galra— that allows them to find their intended mates, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have them.” 

 

Keith looks at the coordinates on his hand with unease. “Biological means?”

 

“Galra call it soul-communication, or  _ cutis scripturam.  _ Our biology allows us to seek and correspond with our intended by writing on our skin,” Kolivan replies.

 

“Okay,” Keith says slowly, still staring at the back of his hand, and trying to make some part of his brain comprehend the information it’s been given. It’s not the weirdest thing he’s encountered in space, it’s not even the weirdest thing he’s encountered among the Galra, but it speaks on a level much deeper than other things. He dry swallows. “But I’m only half Galra. If humans don’t have this… ability… and Galra do, where does that leave me?”

 

There’s a weighted beat of silence before Kolivan gives Keith the authoritative version of a shrug. 

 

“I assume it’s possible that for you, soul-communication won’t work. I don’t know enough half-Galra to give you a baseline of your biology, but I suppose the best way to find out” —he pauses, tossing the pen he’s been holding to Keith—“is to  _ try. _ ”

 

___________________

 

Lotor stares at the back of his hand.

  
  


**_‘I’m not lost.’_ **

 

The handwriting is neat, much neater than the numbers sitting above it on the crook of his thumb, and the language is recognizable. It still takes him a few minutes to understand it, in the context of coordinates, and another five to decide what to do with it. 

 

He’s waited years for this—wondered if  _ cutis scripturam  _ even worked with his mixed biology— and there should be some sense of validation settling into his chest, but instead he finds his gut sinking. _ He can’t have a soulmate. He doesn’t deserve one _ . Yet, here he is with someone else’s handwriting decorating his skin. 

 

He locates a pen, spurred on by an uncontrollable curiosity if nothing else, and against all better judgement he writes back. 

 

**_‘Are you sure?’_ **

 

Then he winces.  _ There’s at least ten thousand years between us _ , he thinks, as new writing appears much quicker than anticipated. It doesn’t give him time to mourn his lost youth or convince himself that this is a bad idea.

 

_ ‘ _ **_So, you do exist._ ** _ ’ _

 

A simple observation, and one that stings. It makes him wonder if this is truly the first soul correspondence he’s ever received.  _ Quiznak only knows how many things he could have missed while caught up in his father’s war. _ He tosses around apology after apology for a few minutes, before settling on a reply that’s less… guilty.

 

‘ **_Did you question that often_ ** ?’

 

The reply is quicker this time.

 

‘ **_No._ ** ’

 

_ So blunt,  _ Lotor thinks, unable to form a thought more eloquent. This whole experience is giving him the soul bond equivalent of shell-shock, and his brain repeating ‘ _ you have a soulmate _ ’ over and over is leaving little room for anything else.

 

**_‘No?’_ **

 

The questioning echo is the simplest response he can give while hoping it’s enough to keep this correspondence going.

 

‘ **_Should I have?_ ** ’ His soulmate asks in return, then in quick succession, ‘ **_Did you?’_ **

 

Lotor frowns at the only sliver of space left on the back of his hand before drawing an arrow there. He darkens it, pointing it toward his wrist with one long line. He hopes his soulmate is swift enough to catch on, as he rolls up the sleeve of his undersuit and stares down the vast expanse of his forearm. 

 

‘ **_I have…_ ** ’

 

He writes small, pausing long enough that he’s sure the words have already appeared to his soulmate before he figures out how to continue. 

 

‘ **_...for a long time. Possibly longer than you’ve been alive_ ** .’

 

_ Ten thousand years longer _ , his brain supplies again, dredging up his earlier anxiety and reminding him why this line of conversation is a bad idea. But he still can’t convince himself to stop.

 

‘ **_If you’re Galra, you being older than me doesn’t come as a surprise_ ** .’

 

The statement lingers, and Lotor has to read it several times to figure out what stands out about it.

 

**‘If** **_I’m Galra_ ** **?’**

 

He emphasizes the odd phrasing, while the Altean half of his blood simmers anxiously. His soulmate’s reply doesn’t make him feel any less cornered.

 

 **‘** ** _I guess since we’re communicating like this_** **_I_** **_have to assume you are.’_**

  
  


_ No sense in keeping it a secret, might as well get all the bad ideas out of the way at once.  _ He presses the pen down so hard it hurts so his reply doesn’t waiver. 

 

**_‘Actually... I’m only half.’_ **

 

His breath stops as soon as the last letter curls out of its ink, a lifetime’s worth of insult and discrimination boiling over into his chest. He tells himself the universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to pair him with someone who resents his Altean heritage, then he has to remind himself of who the Galra really are.  _ Fate has never been kind to him, why should it start now?  _

 

The gut-punch feeling of that reminder is so distracting he barely sees that his soulmate has already responded. Then his eyes trail over the new ink and it hits him even harder than his own thoughts.

 

**_‘So am I.’_ **

___________________

 

The information on  _ cutis scripturam  _ that Kolivan sends isn’t helpful. Keith reads over the first three logs before giving up entirely, and in the end he’s no less confused. It’s a lot of background information for terms he doesn’t know, piled on top of words he doesn’t care to try and pronounce.

 

And nowhere does it say what to do if you and your  _ soulmate _ have communicated for three days and you’ve still found out absolutely  _ nothing _ about them.  Not that Keith has really tried to find anything out. Their conversations flows easily, but a small cloud of fear always hovers above Keith’s side, so he keeps his replies simple.

 

Keith lets out a frustrated huff and rubs his tired eyes open to see Pidge glaring at him from across the table they’re seated at. He’s two days in to one of his becoming-less-frequent visits to the castle, and he’s done a good job of disguising his new biological discoveries. 

 

_ Or so he thinks _ . He tries to brush off the way Pidge is eyeing him, but before he can push his chair back from the table and escape, she finally corners him. 

 

“Unless the Blades have you writing essays up your forearms—not a method I’d personally recommend when data-comms are readily available—then my best guess is that you’re hiding something.” She says it calmly, like she’s not about to squeeze all his secrets out of him in one go. “Or  _ trying to _ .”

 

Keith makes a face he hopes is as stoic as a stone statue and holds her gaze steadily. He lasts about thirty solid seconds before giving up and sighing.  _ If nothing else, maybe she can provide some Pidge-style wisdom. _

 

“Turns out being half-a-Galra is even more complicated than previously anticipated.” He sags as he says it, rolling up his sleeves and holding his arms out for her to see.

 

She reads over the dialogue quickly, and cocks an eyebrow in a silent command that just says, ‘explain.’ So he does, launching into his exchange with Kolivan, the data logs she could probably make more sense of than him, and the full three day conversation lingering on his arms. When he’s finished he has to take a deep breathe while she blinks back at him, absorbing everything. 

 

“Well,” She says, clearing her throat and shifting a bit. “Having a soulmate could be… interesting.” 

 

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, because it is, but it’s also  _ terrifying _ . “But not when I don’t know how to figure out  _ who _ is on the other end. Not when I know they’re another Half-Galra. Not when I’m taking secret missions left and right. And not when we’re fighting the very empire they’re  _ a part of _ .”

 

She blinks at him some more, like she’s already solved his complex problems.  _ She probably has _ . “You know, not to invalidate everything you just unloaded, Keith, but have you tried just  _ asking them? _ ” She motions to some of the exchange on his arm like she already knows that he  _ hasn’t _ . “Like what their name is, or if you could… I don’t know…  _ meet _ . Even if it’s dangerous you have to know it’s a possibility.”

 

“It’s more than dangerous it’s—”  _ Impossible _ . Keith winces, leaving the statement unfinished and shifting uncomfortably as he rolls his sleeves back down. “I just don’t think it’d be a good idea.”

 

“Haven’t you learned anything from our whole experience here?” Pidge asks, a bit disbelieving.  “You’ll never know unless you  _ try _ .” 

 

Keith kind of wishes people would stop giving him that exact advice.

 

___________________

  
  


Lotor knows it’s becoming a habit to wake up and check his forearms every day for a new message, but he can’t help the little glimmer of  _ something _ that’s started forming in his chest, even as he tries to fight it.

 

This morning however, he has no issue letting it sink to the pit of his stomach.

 

**_‘Can I ask you a question?’_ **

 

The words scrawled over the veins in his arm suddenly feel very weighted. The conversations between him and his soulmate have been easy, much easier than he could have hoped for. Even with the internal battle he seems to fight with himself daily, it seems that they were just naturally able to dodge invasive conversation.  _ Until now _ .

 

This is the part he’s been dreading; the inevitability of  _ questions _ . It takes him much more time than normal to locate a pen, and even longer to swallow his confidence.

 

**_‘Certainly.’_ **

 

He writes each letter slowly, dragging it out as much as possible. He has the urge to put his armor on immediately, to hide his skin instead of wait for a reply. But like always, it comes too quickly.

 

**_‘Can we meet?’_ **

 

The words tighten Lotor’s chest. Meeting is…  _ impossible _ . His status, his past _ , _ hell,  _ ten thousand years _ worth of reasons, make it so. All the things he’d let himself feel, all the hopes he let slip after finally knowing he has a soulmate, come crashing down under the weight of his reality. 

 

**_‘We can’t.’_ **

 

He writes with a grip so tight the pen bends, and he forces himself to stay patient. To wait. His soulmate takes their time, probably bouncing between as many thoughts as Lotor himself, but when they reply it’s not the ‘ _ why not _ ’ he expected.

 

**_‘Then can I at least know your name?’_ **

 

Lotor releases his grip on the pen, and lets it fall to the floor, sitting in silence as the feeling inside his chest finishes sinking. 

 

He doesn’t reply.  _ It’s for the best. _

___________________

 

**_‘So you’re just going to ghost me?’_ **

 

Keith leaves the question on his arm for an entire week before he washes it off. It’s one week less than the question before it, and a whole month less than the last time his soulmate actually responded. 

 

It’s probably better this way. At least that’s what he tells himself as he snaps his armor over his wrists and throws himself headlong into missions, and the ache does fade a bit as those missions become more and more frequent.

 

He almost doesn’t realize in his vie for distraction, that his relationship with Voltron has faded a bit too. Their normally heavy two-way communication has slowed to almost nothing, and it becomes more than apparent when, on his next visit to the castle, Keith comes face to face with none other than _Prince Lotor_ _of the Galran empire_. 

 

_ Emperor Lotor _ actually. It seems that while Keith was chasing quintessence trails and trying to forget his own biology, the arrogant purple man had enough time to kill his own father, assume the throne, and become perfectly buddy buddy with all of  _ Keith’s friends _ . 

 

Keith’s not buying it.

 

“You’re just going to trust him! Their fucking  _ leader _ ?!” 

 

Keith shouts it in Shiro’s face the moment he storms into the control room. He can feel Allura stepping in behind him, the tension from her failed attempt to explain things trailing with her.  _ And Lotor _ . The man’s presence raises every hair on the back of Keith’s neck for reasons he can’t even begin to distinguish. 

 

“Whoa. Keith, calm down.” Shiro holds up a hand to stop Keith in his tracks, but Keith isn’t having it.

 

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” He seethes. Hunk, Lance and Pidge all turn sharply from their respective places around the control deck. Keith meets their confused gazes individually before glaring back at Shiro with a frown. “Am I even a part of this coalition anymore!?” 

 

You could hear a pin drop in the tense silence that follows,  _ no one willing to state the obvious _ , and when Shiro places a comforting hand on his shoulder, it severs the last bit of patience Keith has.

 

“Whatever,” he spits, breaking away from the grasp and turning to flee.

 

It’s not until he’s breathing heavily on the other side of his locked door that he realizes he literally ran from the room. 

 

He puts a frustrated hand through his hair, and takes a shuddering breath. He needs to  _ vent _ , but he doesn’t want to return to the Blade base or comm Kolivan this late, and the only other people he’s ever been able to talk to are currently the ones he needs to talk  _ about _ .

 

Really, it only leaves him one option, and before he even realizes what he’s doing he’s ripping his shirt off and digging through his bedside drawer for a pen. When he finally finds one, he sits down on the edge of his bed and takes a deep breath. 

 

_ They won’t answer _ , he thinks,  _ they won’t even read it _ . For the first time in a month the thought of having a silent soulmate is actually comforting. Keith just needs to get some things off his chest, and some little voice in the back of his mind is telling him that this is a better solution than shouting off his balcony at a passing asteroid.    

 

He starts by his elbow.

 

**_‘Hey.’_ **

 

He waits a while, just to be certain, and when a response doesn’t come he continues.

 

**_‘It’s probably better that you won’t read this, but… ’_ **

 

And it’s like once he starts writing, he can’t stop, and whatever barrier was left guarding his secrets fails. Perhaps the safety net of knowing the anonymous stranger on the other end of his skin has already stopped caring, is too strong, but whatever it is Keith  _ writes _ . 

 

He doesn’t mention anyone—or anything— by name, just gives vague details of the scenario and a play by play of all the shitty things he doesn’t want to be feeling.  _ It’s a spiral _ , he thinks,  _ one that was probably a long time coming _ , and when he runs out of room on one arm he switches to the other. It’s not until he’s removed his pants and has the pen pressed into the skin above his knee that he finally stops.

 

“ _ Fuck _ .” He whispers hoarsely. A couple frustrated tears drop from his cheeks, smudging a few bits of ink before he even realizes that he’s been crying. He blots at his eyes hastily, taking in the full scope of words covering his arms and legs. Then he shudders. 

 

_ If his soulmate has to be naked any time soon, they’ll be in for an unpleasant surprise.  _

___________________

  
Lotor is standing half naked in front of a full length mirror when he realizes something has happened. 

 

And by something, he means his  _ soulmate _ has happened. 

 

He’d been stripping off his armor when he saw the words peeking out from under his sleeve.  He’s gotten so used to ignoring them, forcing himself to look away and not even read them, that it took peeling off his undersuit and looking in the mirror to make him realize something was  _ wrong _ .

 

Even his legs are covered. It’s so shocking that he can’t help but step closer and stare at it, the handwriting blurring together in the half light, and at first he thinks it’s nothing more than an incoherent mess. Then he actually finds the start, somewhere up near his left elbow, and his heart skips a beat. 

 

He skims over a few statements, sloppily written accusations that point out his lack of communication, and he can’t feel guilty because they’re right. He wouldn’t have read this, not if there hadn’t been such an absolute heap of ink suddenly upon his skin. Not if there hadn’t suddenly been enough to make him pay attention.

 

When he comes to the section on his other arm is when the words start to really stick out.

 

**_‘I yelled in the face of my best friend today. Someone I admired and looked up to. Someone I thought had my back through everything. But it turns out you’re not the only one willing to abandon me this month…’_ **   
  


The words cause a stirring of odd familiarity in Lotor’s chest, and he has to reread them several times before he figures out why.

 

_ “Am I even a part of this coalition anymore?” _

 

The red paladin’s yelling from earlier in the day flits through his mind, and he gasps.

 

_ It can’t be _ . He reads further just to be sure, to look for some other clue that the puzzle his brain is trying to solve is more than coincidence. Then his eyes land on a phrase on his thigh.

  
  


**_‘They’re the ones welcoming someone who is supposed to be an enemy…’_ **

 

It’s unfinished, like his soulmate had given up mid sentence. It doesn’t matter, the words that are there are enough for Lotor to understand. 

 

He’s running through the Castle of Lions before he even realizes his feet have moved, clothes abandoned and eyes searching for a particular door. He’s never been through it before, but he was shown around the Paladin’s quarters enough to have a general idea of which direction to go.

 

He briefly worries he’ll knock on the wrong door, then he turns the corner and sees that that worry is baseless. Someone else has already beat him to his unfamiliar destination.

 

“Keith please let me in. We need to talk.”

 

The black paladin blocks his path, and before Lotor can turn back unnoticed he catches his eye. 

 

“Lotor.” Shiro greets, obviously taking in Lotor’s odd state of undress and the weird ink covering his skin. “Did you need something urgent from one of us?”

 

Lotor squares his shoulders, suddenly too aware of the spectacle he makes in nothing but his underwear. 

 

“I actually came to speak to the red paladin.” He motions to the door in front of them. “Something made me think that we might… come to an understanding.”

 

The curiosity on the black paladin’s face changes to concern.

 

“It’s rather late,” he states, and Lotor has become familiar with the warning edge that shades Shiro’s voice since his arrival at the castle. It’s a note of warning. “I’m sure Keith would be more willing to talk to you in the morning.”

 

_ Protective _ , Lotor thinks, as more of the things written on his skin line up with reality. He will have some heavy explaining to do when this is all over, but right now he feels the uncontrollable urge to press forward.

 

“You’ll have to excuse my abruptness. I promise I’m not making an attempt to cause more problems.” He does his best to keep his voice level and not let it betray the rapid beating of his heart. “But I don’t think this should wait until morning.”

 

_ It shouldn’t even wait a moment longer _ , he thinks as Shiro opens his mouth to protest once more.

 

But their exchange is interrupted by the door suddenly opening beside them.

___________________

  
  


Keith expects to see Shiro. He expects to tell him to go away, to fight some more, and to shut him back out.

 

_ He doesn’t expect Lotor. _

 

He definitely doesn’t expect Lotor mostly naked, face to face with Shiro, desperation in his eyes and imperial demeanor radiating off of him in waves.

 

The ‘go away’ Keith had prepped to yell dies in his throat as his eyes finally land on Lotor’s skin. Specifically his arms and legs. The black ink curling along the Galran Emperor’s limbs is very familiar.  _ Too familiar _ . And it takes Keith’s brain a moment to process his own handwriting on someone else’s body. 

 

“Keith—” Shiro starts, then his face becomes a mask of confusion as he takes in the state of Keith’s undress, equal to Lotor’s, and there’s no way he misses the anomaly of the matching ink. “ _ What the _ —what is going on?”

 

Keith can’t answer. He can’t pull his eyes away from Lotor, who has finally turned to face him with a matching look of shell-shock.

  
Then there’s a moment of shuddering awe-struck silence as Keith tries to take a breath in and fails. He scrambles, limbs moving in panicked haste as he darts forward and yanks Lotor into his room. He shouts a quick ‘ _ I’ll explain later _ ’ before slamming the door in Shiro’s very concerned face. 

  
A thousand things run through his head as he releases Lotor and takes a step back, but only one of those things makes the translation into speech.  

 

“ _You_ ,” Keith hisses, and jabs a finger toward the Galran Emperor’s chest. “ _Of-fucking-course_ _it’s you_!” He pauses and tries to take another breath. “And you _ghosted_ me!”

 

All the new emotions Keith has felt over the last month are coming to a head. The shock of his own biology finally mixing with the true hurt of his soulmate’s— _ Lotor’s _ —sudden silence. He’s matching up timelines in his head, trying to make sense of everything at once, but it just makes him feel tired. 

 

He should really be used to the chaos by now. Chaos is all the universe has given him since he made his way to space, why should having a soulmate be any different?

 

He sighs and walks over to his bed, leaving Lotor standing in the middle of his room. 

 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?!” 

 

The Emperor clears his throat behind him. “I think… that we have some things to discuss.”

 

Keith spins back around to face him, anger still bubbling over. 

 

“You  _ think _ ?!” He knew that his soulmate would likely be part of the enemy Galra they’ve spent so long fighting, but  _ this _ … this is somehow worse than every situation Keith imagined and then some. “I can’t believe this.”

 

“Perhaps I…” Lotor trails off like he’s trying to choose his words carefully. “I shouldn’t have revealed myself this way.” He motions between their bodies, and Keith can see that his hands are shaking. It makes him feel better about his own hammering heart. “Some of the things you wrote were simply hard to ignore.” 

 

“But others weren’t,” Keith retorts automatically. He has to remind himself that he never truly wanted to meet, that he knew it was a bad idea when he was asking for it, but them meeting now—by accident—still stings. He sighs and rubs his eyes. “It really  _ was _ for the best… us losing contact.”

 

Lotor, to his credit, seems able to shake off his shock enough to look stricken.

 

“I thought so too,” He says calmly. “And my decision to not reply had nothing to do with not wanting to know you. This— _ a soulmate _ is something I’ve wanted for a time longer than you could imagine.” Keith can hear him take a shuddering breath as he speaks. “You have to realize that no one is more aware of my history than I am, and my list of reasons to leave you in silence is lengthy. But… I’m willing to explain now. If you’ll let me?”

 

The unsure note in Lotor’s voice makes Keith look at him again.  _ Really look at him _ . His white hair is disheveled, his frown is tight, and if Keith looks closely he can see that his skin is marred by more than their exchange of ink. Scars from a past that Keith’s data log probably doesn’t even begin to cover criss-cross every inch of his lavender skin. 

 

Keith can’t say Lotor looks normal, and he definitely can’t say he looks  _ human _ , but there is something there, barely past the surface, that Keith would have ignored in other circumstances. There’s something that stirs things in Keith’s own chest—something other than blind rage—and he stops pushing down on it long enough to ease some of his own tension. 

 

“Do you even know my name?” Keith asks, ignoring Lotor’s questioning statement. It’s a fair place to start if they’re going to have this exchange.

 

“I—” Lotor starts and then cuts himself off. Keith watches him pale, and then his cheeks darken in what Keith can only assume is a blush. “Yes actually, though I’ll admit only from your earlier outburst with the others. I believe it’s safe to say that you know mine.” 

 

Keith nods. “If we do this…” 

 

He trails off as Lotor takes a wary step forward. 

 

“Yes?” 

 

He reaches out and places a hand uncertainly on Keith’s shoulder. Keith doesn’t let himself flinch. “This will never be easy if we do this. Will it?” 

 

After a tense moment of silence, and a small tightening of his fingers on Keith’s shoulders, Lotor smiles.

 

“No,” He says, and he sounds hopeful, “but I don’t think the universe would have us any other way.”

 

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> Endless, absolutely astronomical shout-outs to Jes Francowitch, Foxy TheInsaneFox and Ash Tootsonnewts. Without these three this would NOT have made it out of it's rabbit hole of shame that I had shoved it into on google docs.
> 
> It got a heavy beta from all three of them because I was having story fatigue, and real life fatigue, and I'm so happy to say they helped me get it to a point where I'm okay with posting it. 
> 
> As always I'm on twitter @kingotabek. Comments are as always welcome, but I'm going to say for this one please no concrit....I...struggled, and I'm already self-aware.


End file.
